


The Sweetest Thing

by Ailuromatron



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Endearments, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 18:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11583768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailuromatron/pseuds/Ailuromatron
Summary: It was—surprising exactly no one—Tango who brought it to light.





	The Sweetest Thing

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Ngozi for inviting us into Bitty's world.

 

In some ways, it was remarkable how little their relationship changed after they got together. It was funny how small a difference there could be between a healthy, solid friendship and a healthy, solid romance. There was probably a whole dissertation’s worth of commentary to be found there at the hands of someone like Shitty (or perhaps Jack’s therapist), but Eric was generally content to just bask in the comfort of it all—and maybe spend a little less time than before side-eyeing Ransom and Holster’s Epic (B)romance™.

Eric was of course careful to keep his voice casual, his expressions neutral, and his hands to himself in public. Fortunately, his well-established reputation for being free with affectionate nicknames and Southernisms, with anyone and everyone, meant that he didn’t have to worry too much about his vocabulary causing problems for Jack while their relationship remained a secret. If he was a wee bit more liberal with his _sweethearts_ and _sugarplums_ when they were alone, well, that was nobody’s business but theirs.

Jack, though, was almost entirely the same, on either side of a closed door. He’d gradually shifted from “Bittle” to “Bitty”, and sometimes “Bits”, well before his eventful graduation day. And Eric knew that the Canadian use of “bud” meant more things than in American usage. But in the darker, lonelier, more anxious corners of his heart, he sometimes wondered over how Jack didn’t call him anything more overtly affectionate, more tender, now that they were together. Even alone, wrapped in each other and spent from an enthusiastic reunion, he was, simply, _Bits_.

He knew it shouldn't bother him, but distance and busy schedules conspired to make life...not always sunny. Incidents like Eric’s anxious breakdown over how isolated he'd felt before they shared their relationship with their trusted inner circle had the power to cast a cloudy pall that made little things loom big. There were silver linings to be found in the urgency, in the push to concentrate a week’s worth of endearment into the stolen half hour of a Skype call, but even then, Eric found that the contrast was in the understanding, in the intent. The words themselves weren’t so different. Eric was still Eric and Jack was still Jack, and outside of full-on dirty talk—which Jack’s characteristic bluntness somehow rendered devastatingly effective instead of awkward—their conversations were much as they’d been in person throughout Eric’s sophomore year. Some days it was reassuring, and some days it nudged at the back of his mind and made him restless.

 

 

 

It was—surprising exactly no one—Tango who brought it to light one lazy afternoon in the relative safety of the Haus.

Eric had just planted himself in an overstuffed chair after passing out slices of the fruits of that day’s labors to the small crew then scattered around the living room. They were mostly fidgeting with their phones or half watching some nature show on the TV after the initial excitement that always accompanied visiting alumni had dissipated. Jack was leaning against the front of Eric’s chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him on the rug, his free hand wrapped casually, possessively, around Eric’s knee. Dex and Nursey were tucked into opposite corners of the Couch, Tango cross-legged between them, and Shitty was sprawled on the other side of Dex's end against a beanbag that had materialized during the last kegster and was never claimed. Everyone else had somewhere else to be, and Jack and Shitty were basking in the absence of chaos before they had to load up for the return trip to real life.

Jack tipped his head back to look up at Eric and smiled, “Thanks, bud. You didn’t have to do maple just for me, but it’s great as always.”

The others made vague noises of appreciation, Shitty’s voice rising above the others in volume if not coherency.

Eric flushed even deeper than he usually did when someone complimented his baking, but grinned back and ruffled Jack’s hair with his free hand. “I didn’t _have_ to, but of course I wanted to, sugar.”

“How come you don’t do that, Jack?” Tango’s voice was slightly garbled by the last of his pie, and the others waited for him to repeat himself after he swallowed, hoping he’d make more sense the second time around. It didn’t work.

“I’m sorry? Why don’t I what?”

“Sweet things. Bitty calls everybody sweet things. Honey, and sweet pea, and pumpkin, and dumpling, right? But it’s different when he says ‘em to you, Jack, and he calls you things he doesn’t call the rest of us, and you don’t have to hide here any more, so why don’t you call him any different? Do you have nicknames for him when we’re not here?”

Eric was putting far too much effort into keeping his face neutral to comment, and kept his eyes on his plate, carefully breaking off a bite of pie with his fork, and hoping that Jack couldn’t feel the way he’d tensed up. He was glad Jack was facing away from him and couldn’t see the terrible red he was sure his cheeks must be glowing. He wasn’t sure if he was merely horrified or a tiny bit grateful that someone had asked. It hit a little too close to his suppressed insecurities.

Shitty was visibly gearing up to school Tango on boundaries or propriety or something, but Jack sent him a quelling look and a tiny shake of his head, so Shitty sat back again and raised his eyebrows at Jack curiously.

Jack gave Eric’s knee a subtle squeeze and put his now empty plate on the ground before leaning his cheek gently but firmly against Eric’s thigh, a point of contact that both comforted and dismayed Eric, as it meant that Jack probably had noticed his discomfort, and interpreted it more or less accurately.

“A lot of people do use food and, as you say, 'sweet things', as pet names. It’s not uncommon.”

Jack was confidently calm and matter-of-fact when he spoke, with a bare trace of his Captain Voice. Eric recognized the patient teacher mode Jack sometimes used with little kids on the ice, and smiled down at his plate.

“But yeah, our Georgia boy here does seem _particularly_ fond of them, Tango, you’re not wrong.”

“Chirp, chirp, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric rolled his eyes, and he could see Jack’s grin even from behind and to the side, in the set of his jaw and the angle of his head.

Jack went on, “It suits Bittle. He kind of wouldn’t be Bittle without it. He loves you guys, thinks you’re sweet for some reason,” there was a collective self-deprecating snort here from the room at large, “and as long as he doesn’t bless your heart, you can rest assured of his good opinion.” Eric snorted gracelessly at the same time that Nursey choked briefly but violently into his Gatorade bottle. Dex reached behind Tango to give Nursey a couple of solid thwacks on the back and got a watery but grateful smile for his efforts.

Tango didn’t seem to notice, his attention focused on Jack and obviously waiting for the rest of his answer. “But you think Bitty’s just as sweet, don’t y—”

“ _Of course_ I do.” Jack took a moment to moderate the slight sharpness that had crept into his voice. There might be foolishness in the asking, but it was clear that there was more than Tango’s impulsive curiosity weighing in here, and he gentled his tone, his face forward but somehow his attention obviously directed at the young man sitting behind him. “But I already always have called him the sweetest thing I could possibly think of. Why would I change that?” He finished with a careless but oh so expressive little shrug, and leaned back into Eric’s space again.

His audience—most of them—paused a moment to process this, while Tango pressed forward, “But you only ever call him… _Ohhh_.”

Shitty rasped out, “ _Jack Laurent Zimmermann_ , you sly motherfu— _OW.”_ and Dex casually pulled his foot back up under himself on the couch.

Nursey happened to glance up at Eric’s face and reached along the back of the couch to nudge Dex. They shared a look before announcing, more or less simultaneously and with extremely suspect nonchalance, that really, the one thing that would make this afternoon even better would be fro-yo with their favorite law student, and hey, wouldn’t Tango like to come too? They stood and hauled one extra bro apiece from their respective seats and propelled them from the Haus, barely allowing them a pause to shove their shoes on at the door.

 

 

 

Jack and Eric sat and soaked up the peace for several minutes.

Jack was learning, figuring out when a thing needed to be talked through, and when to let a thing be. He wasn’t sure which kind of thing this was, although he was quietly proud of himself for reading Eric well enough to notice that it _was_ a thing.

Finally, he pulled away just enough to turn to see his boyfriend’s face and had a moment of panic that he’d read things all wrong. Eric’s cheeks were flushed, he had a hand over half his face, his eyes were wide and obviously wet. But then he moved his hand from his face to Jack’s and ran his dampened fingers along Jack’s cheek before resting his palm along his jaw. His expression softened to something marvelously buoyant and he said in a low, broken voice, “This boy.”

Jack grinned his relief and held out his arms, and Eric shimmied down off the chair into his lap and curled around him with a sigh of absolute contentment. Jack kissed his nose, then the top of his head as he tucked it under his chin, and breathed out, simply, “ _Bitty_.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
